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Thursday, May 25, 2017

Musing Upon Bread │ Overzealous Use of Antibiotics a Deadly Practice │ Sutherlandia Frutescens: A 'Secret Weapon' for Health and Longevity? │ Dietary Change...or Risky ADHD Drugs?

My younger brother Mark surprised me by actually remaining conscious throughout last evening after he came home from the bar ─ it was his second consecutive evening spent in that alert state.

He sat up until approximately 10:40 p.m. before heading on upstairs to his bedroom for the night ─ he still has to get up at 4:20 a.m. for work. This delayed my own bedtime by about 10 minutes, and so I was not in bed until 10:52 p.m.

I just cannot seem to generate any lengthy bouts of sleep. Upon finding myself sufficiently awake to decide I should take advantage of the opportunity to have a bathroom break and drink some water, I found that it was only into the midnight hour.

That is a pathetic first block of sleep ─ maybe an hour?

And so went my night, although I was comfortable enough in bed. And it was 6:14 a.m. when I checked the time this morning and decided to get up for the day.

Initially I suspected that my eldest stepson Tho had not gone to work, but after I went downstairs to make my day's first mug of hot blended instant coffee / cocoa powder, I saw the door to his sleeping area to be open ─ he closes it anytime he has gone to bed.

His younger brother Poté was still in bed, but he rose right after I had taken my beverage upstairs here to my computer, and he was also soon to leave for work. And I was alone.

I continued work over the morning on the new post I have in draft at my Latin Impressions website. It concerned me that I was not sparking up, though ─ I felt ill rested despite my night in bed. There seemed something more elementally amiss with me.

The day was sunny. I wanted to get in some sunbathing on the backyard sundeck, but I also wanted to engage some exercise in the backyard tool shed before the day grew too warm. Yet it did not seem possible ─ not the way I was feeling.

So I gambled that lying down would help, potentially even napping a little. It was still the forenoon.

I relaxed deeply; and soon enough I realized that it would be very easy for me to remain in that state for a long, long while. Did I dare yield myself up to bed-rest at the cost of the other things I should be doing with my time?

I looked at the clock, and saw that it was still not quite the noon-hour ─ perhaps 11:45 a.m. I recognized that it would most likely be folly to submit to the temptation to remain as I was.

And so I got myself up.

I underwent a hunt for some shorts or a pair of square-leg-style swim trunks; and when I located a pair and tried them on, I actually inspired myself by how I appeared ─ muscular and fit-looking.

And thus was resurrected that version of me that I never expected to find today.

I had a strong workout in the shed. And then at exactly 12:26 p.m., I lied down on the sundeck and commenced what was to prove to be better than 1½ hours of sunbathing. When I decided to stop and checked the time, it was 2:01 p.m.

But I knew that I was no longer home alone. Not 10 minutes into my sunbathing session I heard one of my stepsons home, and soon rampaging about in the kitchen fixing himself a lunch. I correctly presumed that it would be Tho, home again from work early for a second consecutive day.

And of course, the kitchen light had to go on ─ it matters not that the Sun is blazing forth gloriously. That ate at me as I continued my sunning session, not wishing to interrupt my time in the Sun by breaking from it to come into the house to turn off the infernal light.

Tho doesn't contribute a cent towards utilities, so why should electricity matter to him?

But I am just upsetting myself by rehearsing this ─ I must get off the topic.

Once my sunning was over with, it was time to finally have my first meal of the day. I had grown most hungry. And there was a purpose to it.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, my wife Jack had left here that day to return to Vancouver after being home since late Monday afternoon (or possibly the early evening) ─ a rare two-day spread of her presence.

She was to later phone me and let me know that she had inadvertently left a dish in the fridge that she had meant to take with her ─ a dish of chicken feet, a 'delicacy' she has quite a taste for.

Well, she was concerned that she mightn't be back home for several days, so she invited me to try and eat them to avoid risking having to just throw them out. I could only offer to try, for as I said to her, the things give me the creeps.

I was going to have to be ravenous to dare try them.

So I rounded up a bowl of a couple of things she had prepared, and atop that I placed two of the three chicken feet that I located in a plastic container in the fridge. There were also a couple of pork chops, so I took one of those.

And so with a bit of pork, some chicken toes, and some of the mixed fare in the bowl, I began the grimaced task of chewing my slow way through my brunch.

It definitely took determination. And I only managed to endure two chicken feet as opposed to just one because I did not want to have more than one foot confronting me at a future meal ─ a meal that most certainly will not be later today.

Once I had finished my meal, I fixed up a third mug of hot blended instant coffee / cocoa powder ─ I only rarely have three of these beverages, but this was my reward...and a very good palate-cleanser.

Thank Heaven there were only three of these feet!

Incidentally, just in case you may be thinking that they were deep fried or something, they were not. They were merely stewed at best, or simply boiled at worst. And being cold right out of the fridge, they were doubly unpalatable.

Yesterday I meant to post three photos that were sent to me early in the morning, but I had actually forgotten about them.

They were sent by Elena, a Russian woman I first began E-mail correspondence with back in the year 2000.

Like many Russian women using the Web to reach out, she had hopes and dreams of making it to the West ─ by way of marriage, if possible.

She had a young son named Roman ─ for some reason, in the photo of the two of them together, she rather reminded me of actress Meg Ryan:

This is a photo of me from 2001 ─ a selfie I took by using a mirrored window one weekend on a floor (an outdoor patio) of the Vancouver office building I worked in:

Elena finally did make it to the West, ending up in California. But she didn't do it by marrying an American.

I think she started off with a study visa, taking English studies. She was an excellent swimmer, and had taught swimming over in Khabarovsk. So she got work as a swimming tutor while taking her lessons.

A few years passed, and she undertook trying for a real estate agent's licence, meantime obtaining her 'green card.'

And then just two days ago, she finally was granted her U.S. citizenship:

Anyway, congratulations to Elena!


When I was a young man, I believed that 100% whole grain bread was nearly an ideal food. I was very fortunate to have a mother who was a fantastic baker, so I had access to a lot of homemade bread.

She loved to experiment with her own version of multi-grain bread, even mixing in pea and soy flour, and adding other extras like seeds.

It seems like more and more people today have problems when they eat bread. Maybe we only need to look at the ingredients label to begin fathoming why that might be. How much of what a person finds listed is in any way 'food'?

This is a very good article:


Do Europeans still predominantly bake 'old-fashioned' bread?

The article claims that "local bakeries" may take up to three days to create their loaves of bread ─ I wish that was explained. Sure, my mother might sometimes leave her rising bread dough overnight if she had already punched it down a time or two in the evening, but however could a third day figure into the equation?

That could have been better explained.


Yet another study has found that physicians persist in prescribing antibiotics for conditions that do not involve bacteria ─ just a cold virus, for example.

This latest study is Canadian, but similar reports keep making the news ─ in just a quick Google search, I see such reports on just the first Google page of results that relate to the years 2016, 2014, and 2012.

But here are some reports concerning the latest Canadian findings:





The study involved seniors, as is clear. But do we really believe that only seniors get the antibiotics unnecessarily?

Get real.


I recently read an article on adaptogens ─ and specifically one known as Sutherlandia frutescens ─ that quite piqued my interest. It made me wonder about the possibility of growing the responsible South African plant.

The article is certainly interesting, but it's really a lead-in advertising a product. Still, have a look:


That article is actually a reprint. It was last previously published on August 31, 2016; and was originally published on February 23, 2016.

The Zulu account is undoubtedly a gripping effect ─ as I said, it made me wonder about growing my own plants if could ever get the seeds.

I linked to the Wikipedia article on Sutherlandia frutescens, but it may have been penned by a skeptic ─ at any rate, it was not authoured by someone extolling the plant.

A far better resource on the plant's value is this paper originally published in the Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine titled Sutherlandia frutescens: The Meeting of Science and Traditional Knowledge.

You may notice five other "similar articles" at that webpage that are listed in a column at the right.

I haven't the income to be adding Sutherlandia frutescens supplements to my regimen, but I most likely would if I wasn't financially limited as I am.


Any parent with a child diagnosed with ADHD should pay attention to the following reports if that parent is at all concerned about the ridiculously harmful medications that such unfortunate kids are exclusively prescribed to control their behaviour:



Why not give it a good try?


I am badly pressed for time, so I have to rush to closure now with this journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster ─ I was renting in a house located on Ninth Street, and maybe two houses up from Third Avenue.

For many, many months I had worked just a day a week for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society. I swamped on S.A.N.E.'s blue pick-up truck.

Back then, S.A.N.E. was housed in an old building that was located approximately where the New Westminster SkyTrain Station today opens up onto Carnarvon Street.

My tenure with S.A.N.E. had come to an end when a grant they had finally ran out.

And then one day I found a note on my door from my former truck driver (Esther St. Jean) that indicated that S.A.N.E. wanted to hire me full-time ─ possibly on a three- or four-month contract.

Well, to my great rue, I was not hired again to work as a swamper. The sorry truth was that there was nothing much there for me to do. My role just seemed to be to pass the tedious hours as best I was able.

It was discouraging, and I was feeling worthless, with no purpose.

The Victoria Day long weekend had just ended, and I was confronted with a return to the job after three welcome days off.
TUESDAY, May 25, 1976

Sleepy, but up at 6:10 a.m. 

I feel so much like just giving up and living off in the bush somewhere ─ if it were possible.

I spent about 40 minutes from 8:20 a.m. trying to nap, but failed.

I skipped lunch today, cause from about 1:00 p.m. on Mike & I handled the truck; Esther wasn't around and the swampers didn't show either.

I picked up an old "rough it" parka.

I took the last 35 minutes of the day off and sneaked off home.

I'm heading for mom's (I need the flab-dissolve) in a light rain just short of 7:00 p.m.

Bill was home when I went by; he said he'd likely visit Mark & Cathy tonight when I left him last night.

My only mail at mom's was a stamp notice.

She had a pair of pants ready for me.

I called to see if Bill was home, and failing an answer, I called Mark's (who is evening shifting this week) and had Bill answer. I told him I'd be coming over.

I discovered an ad for 69¢ lb. pot roasts. I also discovered Safeway in Whalley must be open till 10:00 p.m. week-days.

Shortly after arriving, as I was getting my pocket books boxed to take home, Bill took off and came back with a "quarter-pounder" hamburger for me.

Anyway, we didn't leave for home till after 11:30 p.m., and I won't be in bed till a few minutes beyond midnight.

I bought a West Indies Sweepstakes ticket from mom.
I think "Mike" may have been an older fellow who had been hired like I was, but I can no longer remember anything about him.

My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite that mightn't have been much more than four blocks from my room. When I left that evening to go and visit my mother Irene Dorosh, I would have seen Bill's car parked ─ that is how I knew that he was home.

Now, as for my mother's home, she and her husband Alex lived in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey ─ to get there was a 1½-hour walk. 

My younger brother Mark and his girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther were sharing a rented home on Bentley Road in Whalley. Their home was about 4¼ miles from my mother's home ─ another fairly decent walk.

I sure had the spunk back then for walking great distances ─ I admire that about my younger self.

Well, I think my brother Mark is home ─ I have to proofread this and then get it published.
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